Marking Time
by JenniferJF
Summary: Complete. The first snow of the season had begun sometime during the concert... Will contain general spoilers for all of Season 9 and Season 10 SG1, specific ones for Unending. Yes, it's my ship!fic. SJ established.
1. Before

The first snow of the season had begun sometime during the concert. Large, wet flakes still drifted slowly through the now darkened sky, muffling the chatter of the attendees and the rumble of the waiting taxis as the concert ended and the audience headed back out into their everyday lives. The occasional horn blare or shout for a driver's attention did little to disturb the peace that had settled over Samantha Carter like the snow during the few short hours she had spent inside. Yo-Yo Ma's cello playing had touched Sam in a way she couldn't have explained to anyone, its simple beauty leaving her more restful than she'd been in a long, long time.

She wasn't ready for the evening to end.

Sam grabbed her companion's arm, pulling him back as he stepped forward to hail a taxi. "Jack?"

He glanced back at her, "Hmm?"

"Walk for a bit?"

He smiled and nodded, understanding her mood as he always did. She shifted her grip, slipping her arm through his as they started forward. It was funny how normal little things like walking together had become so special over the past few months.

They left the concert crowd behind, crossing the street into the grassy memorial Mall which cut through the heart of D.C. They avoided the grass, however, keeping to the walkways only lightly dusted with snow. Jack knew Sam wasn't wearing combat boots under her evening gown, and the click of her heels on the pavement seemed loud in the sudden silence.

The famous monuments of Washington lit up the night around them as they walked. Finally, Jack disturbed the momentary stillness to ask the question she knew had been on his mind since they'd left the concert. "So?"

She chuckled against his shoulder. "You were right. He's amazing."

"Told ya." But despite the casual words, she heard the satisfaction and relief behind them.

Sam had - in what felt like a lifetime ago - used the excuse of different outside interests to explain why she and Jack rarely did anything outside of work together. The truth, of course, was that while working together at the SGC the line between friendship and fraternization had been too fine for her to risk going anywhere near it. Having neatly solved that problem through the simple expedient of marriage, she now found herself in the odd yet wonderful position of dating her own husband. Admittedly, even simple things like trying to ignore the sounds of his channel surfing while trying to read were more enjoyable than she'd have imagined possible. Of course, that was mostly because of her tendency to use his thigh – or whatever other part of him presented itself -- as her pillow. Still, even after six months of marriage, every outside activity or interest they could share with each other was a priceless treasure.

So, of course Jack was delighted she had enjoyed the concert as much as he did. She squeezed his arm, letting him know she understood. They walked again in silence for a few more minutes, enjoying each other's company until, chilled by a sudden gust of wind, Sam shivered involuntarily against Jack.

"Cold?" he asked, smiling down at her.

"A little." She was actually more than just a little bit cold, but she was hesitant to break the mood and end the evening. She had to be at the airport early the next morning for her flight back to Colorado Springs, and with Priors showing up more and more frequently, who knew when they'd get another opportunity to spend an entire weekend together. However, when she shivered again, Jack, refusing to take 'No' for an answer, hailed a taxi and they headed for home.

Where, since warming Sam up had become something of an art form to Jack O'Neill, the evening was far from over. But she could always sleep on the plane.


	2. First Anniversary

It had been waiting at her lab desk the morning they'd left. A small box wrapped in pink paper with an attached card. The envelope had been hand-addressed simply "Carter" so even if she hadn't recognized the handwriting, she would have known who it was from.

She'd been in a foul mood since waking up that morning and realizing she really had spent the night in her quarters at the SGC and had canceled her flight to Minnesota at the last minute the night before. SG-1 had been suddenly recalled from what was supposed to have been the start of a week's leave. The Prior's incursions into the Milky Way were becoming more frequent, so there was no other team available to send to P3X-J11 when the inhabitants requested assistance after one such visit.

Which meant rather than being where she ought to have been – celebrating her first anniversary with her feet propped up next to her husband's on a cooler full of beer out on their pier – she was stuck at the SGC preparing for departure.

But the package _had_ brought a smile to her face, and she had suddenly understood the looks which had passed between Daniel and Teal'c at breakfast. The fact that Daniel must have already had the present made her feel absurdly better, as did the note when she'd opened it: "Sam – gave this to Daniel (she'd gotten the culprit correct, at any rate) just in case… Anyway, open this if you're not back in time. I'll be here waiting. Always. – Jack"

Which was why she was smiling as she tucked the package into her ruck, and as she joined the rest of her team in the Gateroom, and as they started up the ramp. Because Jack understood, and while certainly disappointed was not truly upset, leaving her free to do her duty and her job which, if she were honest, she really did love. And she didn't have to feel guilty about _that_, either.

Now, though, 24 hours later, her smile was a distant memory.

She had hoped – though she should have known better - that it would be a short mission. But the natives had been unsure about evacuating to another planet via the Stargate, and SG-1 had spent the last day unsuccessfully trying to convince them that accepting Origin or death were the only other alternatives. Which was why, on her first anniversary, Sam found herself offworld a billion light-years from Jack sitting near her sleeping teammates pulling her turn on watch.

Things were, fortunately, still quiet, so when Cam relieved her, rather than go straight back to her sleeping bag, she headed off away from the others. Finding a spot in a relatively secluded corner where she could have some measure of privacy but still be available if necessary, she sat down and pulled the small package out of the cargo pocket at her right thigh.

Moments later, the crumpled remains of the pink wrapping paper were stuffed back in her pocket and she was slitting open the plain brown box the paper had concealed. She slid out the contents of the box. The faint moonlight revealed a dark MP3 player lying in the palm of her hand. She couldn't help smiling at the attached Post-It note. "Play Me" it read in Jack's barely legible scrawl.

As if she needed to be told. After tucking the box back in her pocket, she stuck the attached earbuds into her ears, fiddled with the player for a second to make sure the volume wasn't too loud, and pushed play.

Jack's voice filled her ears. Typically Jack, the hesitancy in his voice as he'd recorded his message told more than the words themselves the depth of his emotions:

"Hi, Sam… Happy Anniversary… wherever you are. Cause – you know – if you're listening to this, then you're not here..." She could clearly hear his long intake of breath followed by a rustling of paper before he continued, "Look, I'm staring at this stupid speech I wrote to give you … but it's crap. I know I should be upset you might miss our anniversary, but I ain't gonna pretend I am. I mean – who'd have thought a few years ago we'd even be having an anniversary? So, get your job done and get back home. You'll always know where to find me. I love you, and you know I miss you….. Happy Anniversary, Sam."

Despite her best efforts, she had tears in her eyes when he finished speaking. But only when Yo-Yo Ma's cello music started playing in her ear, and she could almost feel Jack sitting there next to her in the near darkness, did they flow silently down her cheeks. She wiped them away, stood up, and made her way back to her sleeping bag where, if the music which continued to play into her ears caused any more tears, they were lost in the folds of her blanket.

-o-o-o-

He must have been half-dozing in the warm sunlight, because the first warning he had that he was no longer alone was when she cleared her throat behind him. He twisted to look over his shoulder, startled that anyone could sneak up on him yet oddly proud she could.

She was standing at the edge of the pier, the afternoon sunlight turning her hair to spun gold around her face. The blue of his old Air Force Academy sweatshirt she wore set off her eyes, which were already bright as she looked at him. She caught her lower lip between her teeth, bringing her smile under control before speaking. "Hi, Jack. Look what I got."

She held up the object he only now realized she was holding. A cake. He couldn't help his own smile broadening. Only one thing could make him overlook cake and – thank God – he was looking at it. "Mhmmm… Cake…" He gave his best Homer impression as he got up from his lawn chair and stepped towards her.

Sam giggled, and since her unsuppressed laughter was the most wonderful sound in the world, Jack couldn't help but join in. He reached her and, carefully so as not to end up with frosting all over his shirt, leaned forwards to kiss her above the cake. They separated the barest fraction of an inch and he murmured against her lips, "Let's get this cake inside where we can do this right."

Her eyes gazed into his for a moment, blue turning nearly to black as she reacted to him. Then, she blinked once, slowly, and when her eyes reopened, their sparkle was back. Winking at him, she did a quick about-face and took off towards the cabin. A few steps away she called back over her shoulder with a smile that she _knew_ he was powerless to resist, "Coming, sir?"

Laughing again, hoping she'd never stop surprising him, Jack muttered under his breath, "You betcha!" before rushing to catch up to the remarkable woman he'd somehow gotten to marry him.

Long hours later, the cake remaining uneaten, they lay together in a tangle of sheets and limbs. Suddenly, Sam's fingers paused in their lazy play through his hair. She chuckled as she spoke, clearly surprised at having forgotten earlier. "Happy Anniversary, Jack." Then, more seriously, "I never thought I could be this happy."

Lifting his head up from where it rested on his favorite pillow, he looked up at her. Jack couldn't have agreed more. It had been the happiest year of his life, too. "Me too, Sam. Happy Anniversary" And, with that, words were no longer necessary or possible as their lips met in a kiss which promised a lifetime of happiness to come.


	3. Interlude

The music carried her back, but it was the smells which welcomed her home.

_Bread – her mother's pumpernickel bread baking in the oven mixed with the acrid smell of school textbook and the musty sweetness of rubber eraser. The smells and sounds of childhood long forgotten by the conscious mind- and Sam was sitting at the kitchen table, legs barely reaching the floor as she worked her way through the page of equations opened before her. Her mother bustled around the room, preparing dinner in the short space between when she and Dad got home from work._

_Stumped, Sam chewed thoughtfully on her lower lip for a minute, staring at the problem before her, but it was no use. "Uh… Mom?"_

_Her mom looked up from the stove. "Yeah, Sam?"_

"_Do you have a minute? I've got a question…"_

_Her mom stepped over to look over Sam's shoulder at the math book. Pointing at the difficult problem with her pencil eraser, Sam explained, "I get Algebra-" If the truth were known, she was rather proud of this accomplishment. As a fifth grader, she was taking Algebra years ahead of her classmates and had to be bused to the local Junior High for her math class. So she was a bit hesitant to let even her mom know she couldn't find the answer, even if it was for extra credit. Still… "How do I solve a problem with two variables?"_

_Her mom read the word problem, then chuckled. "It's a trick question, honey – sort of. This first bit," she pointed, "has it's own single-variable equation. Solve that first, and use it's answer in the other equation."_

_Armed with that new information, Sam looked back down at the problem. And reread it. And suddenly the equations – and even the solutions – were crystal clear. She smiled up at her mom. "Thanks!"_

_Her mom squeezed her shoulder in response. "Anytime, honey."_

_Then, her mom turned away suddenly, her attention diverted. Sam followed her gaze towards the radio. A slow, somber cello solo had started playing on her mom's classical station – her mom's favorite song. Sam looked back at her mother, and couldn't help smiling again. Her mom noticed her reaction, and smiled back. As her mom listened to the song, Sam turned back to her math, barely aware she was humming happily to the music._

_Some things would never change, and she knew at that moment that hearing that song would always bring her back to the safety of her mother's kitchen._

_Only… She'd been wrong. Things could change, always and forever, in the blink of an eye. Her world could shatter, even in her mom's kitchen._

_Only… Then it wasn't really her kitchen anymore._

And the song continued, carrying her forward.

_Standing between Mark and her dad, clutching her dad's hand so hard it nearly hurt. It must have hurt him, but he never said anything. He never did._

_At the front of the church, her mom lay in her coffin, except she wasn't really there anymore. Sam looked up at her father standing next to her, at the strong man who – after his immediate tears - had managed to keep from crying._

_She was still angry at him, but she was also proud. Proud that he'd kept them together and kept them going through the nightmare of the last week. Proud, too, that because of his example, she had managed not to cry since then, either._

_At least, not when she was awake and where other people might see her, which was close enough._

_The solo started, and Sam looked towards the woman playing the cello - playing her mother's song. Except now there was nothing safe or comforting in the familiar melody. It was cold and black and lonely and seemed to expand to fill the church with Sam's own grief._

_Tears welled up inside her, but she would not cry. Her mind scrambled desperately for something – for anything – to concentrate on rather than give in. Because her mom was gone…_

_And two times two equals four.._

_Her mom was gone…._

_And two times three equals six._

_But…._

_And two times four equals eight, and two times five equals ten, and two times six equals twelve… She was mentally calculating what sixteen times twelve was by the time the service ended._

_But she never cried. Until.…_

The last notes of the song were fading in her ears when she woke up, tears on her cheeks and soaking her pillow. Instead of strong arms pulling her across the bed towards comfort, there was only empty space. She was alone.

Only she wasn't, not really. That was just an illusion caused by distance. Rolling over the other way, she reached for the bedside phone.

-o-o-o-

It was too early for the alarm to be going off. He'd just gone to sleep, for crying out loud. Then, he realized it was the digitized ring of a cellphone. The song finally got through his still half-asleep consciousness: "Ride of the Valkyrie." His eyes popped open. Sam.

Fully awake in an instant, he grabbed the phone and sat up. It was flipped open and at his ear before his feet hit the bedroom floor. "What's wrong?"

"Jack." It wasn't a question. He could hear her ragged intake of breath, and knew she had been crying – probably still was. She was reaching to him in the only way she could. His immediate instinct – an urge so strong it left him trembling for control – was to rush to the nearest airport, get the nearest plane, and fly the damn thing to Colorado.

"Are you okay?" he asked as gently as possible, trying to keep his own fear and frustration out of his voice. Those didn't matter right now.

"Yeah... I mean…" her voice broke.

Damn. "Sam?"

"It was just a dream. More a memory, really. I probably shouldn't have called-"

He interrupted her in his best CO voice. "Carter."

It worked. "Sorry."

Better. "So…?"

So Sam told him about her dream – or more accurately, her memories. About how her mother used to love classical music, and how as a child Sam would listen with her. But after her mother had died, the magic seemed to go out of the music, leaving it flat and lifeless. She had stopped listening to it, hadn't imagined she'd ever find joy or comfort in it again.

Until she had started listening to it with him.

She had been regaining control of herself the entire time she'd been talking to him, until she ended by explaining matter-of-factly: "I fell asleep listening the songs you loaded this weekend, and hearing mom's favorite song again must have triggered the memories. I know it's sort of silly to be so upset over just a dream, and I probably should have just waited till I called you tomorrow…. But I needed to talk to you…"

"No, I understand," Jack quickly reassured her. And he did. Because it had been months after Charlie had died before he could look at a baseball glove without feeling the twist of a knife in his gut. And it hadn't been until Teal'c wanted to know what something called 'baseball' had to do with one's mother and a pastry involving baked apples that he'd ended up at another baseball game. To his utter amazement, he had managed to enjoy it with his friend. So he really did understand her reaction to the music. "And never hesitate to call – anytime."

"Thanks." Though whether she was thankful for being understood, or for finally having someone to share herself with, or for his simply being there on the other end of the phone at 2am was unclear. Jack suspected it was all three.

He smiled. "My pleasure." And he meant it. Maybe he didn't need to be lying next to her to be there for her after all.

She hesitated a minute before saying, "I should be going. We both need to sleep."

"You gonna be okay?" He didn't really want to end the conversation either. He never did. But she was right.

"Uh-huh. Now. I love you, Jack."

"Me too - I love you."

"'Night."

"Night."

And Sam severed the connection, leaving him alone again. Only, not really alone. He turned on his clock radio – tuned as always to the local classical music station – and lay back down to sleep. The music filled the room as he drifted back asleep imagining, hundreds of miles away, Sam doing the exact same thing.

He continued to keep Sam's MP3 player filled with music. Much of it was the classical music which had suddenly become even more special to both of them, but sometimes the occasional pop-tune snuck in which Cassie insisted Sam just _had_ to listen to. Through it all, however, he never replaced _that_ song – the cello solo which had been Sam's mother's favorite. When she had shared that memory with him, the song had somehow become 'their' song, too. Jack liked knowing that she always had it with her to remind her of who she was and of how much she was loved. Wherever she was and whatever she was doing.


	4. Second Anniversary

A/N - spoilers for Unending, and extra special thanks to Caladria for her knowledge of music

-o-o-o-

For her second anniversary, Sam got a cello.

Well, to be correct, she got herself a cello. She hadn't planned on even marking the occasion initially, but as the days SG-1 and General Landry were stuck on the Odyssey turned into weeks which became months, she changed her mind. She had to find something to distract herself from the theories and equations and crystals and power outputs and all the other crucial yet tedious problems of her work with the Asgard technology.

And she had to find a way to stay close to Jack. Because when she tried to take a break from the work, the quiet of the empty lab room pressed in around her and she could feel his absence so acutely it nearly crushed her. It was only a few weeks before the songs on the MP3 player stopped working - when the despair of not knowing when she'd see him again, smell him again, _feel _him again threatened to consume her.

But as much as she missed him personally, the effect his absence was having on her work was astonishing. She'd been separated from him before, but never this long or this completely. Now, she was beginning to realize how much she'd come to rely on him professionally. A hundred times a day as she worked, she'd get stumped or confused and find herself making a mental note to mention the problem to Jack before she'd remember that she couldn't.

The hologram of Thor did not help. She didn't need another scientist. She needed _Jack_, with his quick wit and often uncanny ability to free her from the scientific complexities she'd get herself tangled in to let her see the simple answer at the heart of it all. Which meant this whole damn process was taking impossibly longer than it should. And the longer it took, the more frustrated she got – in every way – and the harder everything got and the longer everything took…

She needed to figure out a way to break the cycle – to refocus her mind and body – or she'd quickly become worthless to herself, not to mention the rest of the known universe.

The solution came to her one night as she lay alone in her bunk. The rest of the team had quickly requested regular beds, which she had made for them. But she had been unwilling to move to a larger bed. The empty space next to her had been manageable when the sound of his voice was just a phone call away. She couldn't face it now.

She'd connected her MP3 player to the speaker system in her quarters, and the sound of 'their song' filled the room as she'd drifted half asleep. But instead of bringing him closer, it seemed to expand the emptiness inside her. She lay, listening to the music, staring up at the ceiling. Sleep was impossible. Yet she couldn't bear the thought of losing the music or the connection to him. Simply listening to the music was no longer enough.. And then she knew.

Sam got up, went to her lab, and began to search the ship's files. It took her several days to find the information she needed, and several more to set the parameters in the matter replicator. But, the day before her second anniversary, she had it. And sometime during the process, what had started out as a simple means of distraction had somehow become something more. The more she'd thought about sitting down with the cello instead of her laptop, the more she'd realized how much she wanted to learn to play. How the idea that maybe someday she'd find the time had drifted in the back of her mind for years – maybe since she'd been a child listening with her mother. At least she could do something productive during her breaks. Wouldn't Jack be surprised!

But, despite her excitement, she forced herself to wait until the next afternoon, when she had grown accustomed to taking a short break before meeting the rest of the team for dinner. Then, instead of reading an e-book or going for a quick run through the empty ship, she punched the necessary commands into her laptop.

The air shimmered behind her, and turning to look over her shoulder, there it was. A perfect cello. She'd done it.

And it worked. The cello proved the perfect distraction from the rigors of studying and adapting the Asgard technology. At first, of course, she was so bad it took all her concentration just to play any notes without the cello screeching like a tortured animal. Fingers had to be placed on precisely the right spots, with just enough pressure and no more. The bow had to be held at just the right angle, too, each stroke smooth and sure and accurate. But nearly anything can be accomplished with time and trial and patience. Before more than a few weeks had passed, she could manage the easy scales.

It took longer to turn those scales into music. She was in no hurry, and experimented with the notes until she could play simple music like "Mary Had a Little Lamb" and "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star." Then she moved onto more complex music, listening to the songs on her MP3 player and trying to match their notes and rhythm. As she grew ever more proficient, and was able to play the songs without concentrating on technique alone, she found the simple math of the music to be the perfect counterpoint to the more complex equations of her work – the music refocusing her as she'd hoped it would.

The very last song she learned to play was 'their song.' The song that had first been her mother's. And while she never stopped missing Jack, playing kept her longing manageable. Her lab no longer smelled empty and sterile, the mingled scent of varnished wood and warmed resin having replaced those of metal and plastic. The strings pressed beneath her fingers, the bow humming in her hand, the cello positioned perfectly in her arms and between her legs kept the emptiness at bay. At least while their music filled the air. It wasn't enough, but it kept her going. And as the months rolled into years which became decades, she stopped thinking about technique entirely, and like math itself, playing became simply another part of who she was.


	5. DS al coda

The music poured from her, soaking the lab in her grief – and her despair. For she could no longer even remember the day she had given up – when she'd gone from hoping for a solution and imagining the day she'd return home to knowing it was futile. The moment she'd gone from searching for an answer to mindlessly moving forward only because there was nothing left to do. Because while everything else changed, one thing remained constant. Sam never stopped. Not while there was still energy left to move forward.

She'd simply stopped believing forward contained anything but more misery. And only here, with the cello her sole companion, did she freely express the depth of that loss.

Because she'd been happy, once. A lifetime ago in another place and another time. When laughter had been free and grief sheltered in welcoming arms. And while there were still smiles, and there were still arms willing to hold her, they could never replace the ones she had lost. These were mere shadows of the joy she had known only too briefly, before time had ripped him away from her as surely as death ever could.

She understood now how it must feel for amputees – to constantly reach for a missing limb only to find it gone. The constant recurring loss gradually fading into a numb tingle. Or the pain her own father must have gone through, half of himself gone, irreplaceably lost, but the others who remained needing him completely.

The grief was unbearable. It threatened to crush her. So she did not bear it. She let the cello feel in her place, the music expressing what she could not.

And so she played, and she worked, and she moved forward. Because there was nothing else she could do.

-o-o-o-

The work was finished, the sequence complete. One final key stroke and they would be free. The Odyssey would explode and then – if she were right – none of this would have happened. All of them, except Teal'c, would be returned to the moment before the time bubble was created, with no memory of the intervening years. The years of pain and loneliness gone as if they had never happened.

Because they never would have.

Yet in the final moment before hitting that final stroke, Sam looked up. Across the lab, secure in its stand, her cello stood alone. She was leaving it, too, and for one unbelievable second she felt a wave of sadness at the loss.

But just for one moment. Then the cello – and the lab around it – was lit in the sudden intense glare of the Ori blast, and she knew she had won. She had succeeded against all odds, and was finally headed back home, back to the time and place where she belonged, back to –


	6. Second Anniversary Reprised

For her second anniversary, Sam got a cello. Again.

Jack had had no idea what to get her until a few weeks before the date. It started during a rare lazy Saturday afternoon at their Colorado Springs house. Teal'c had dropped by to catch the Cubs game on TV, and had claimed his usual seat in the Lazy Boy while Sam and Jack shared the couch.

It was the first time Jack had spent time with Teal'c since the Odyssey had returned filled with the technology of the Asgard. Jack had been trying to avoid staring at the grey streak in Teal'c's hair all afternoon. His friend had hardly aged a day in the decade Jack had known him, and then in the space of what – to Jack – seemed just barely a month he appeared to have made up for that entire decade. And it wasn't just the physical aging. His friend seemed more settled, more at ease and natural amongst his human friends than he had before.

Before…

A chill still ran through Jack when he considered what his friend had been through. What, apparently, Hank Landry and the rest of SG-1 had been through with him. He glanced down at the woman curled on the sofa next to him, her head pillowed on his thigh, her unproductive yet much needed slumber reminding him forcibly of the effects of time and acquaintance. His arm tightened protectively around her shoulders.

He didn't even want to imagine what Sam had been through…

Only, apparently, she hadn't. None of them, except Teal'c, had actually been through more than a rather nasty battle with the Ori which ended when Sam disconnected the Asgard tech from the Odyssey's hyperdrive and they got away. The whole thing confused the heck out of him. His Sam had spent 50 years on that ship without him, and yet, she hadn't. She was right there, tucked safely against him, with no memory of any of it. Still, he couldn't help but worry - wonder really – about what might have happened…

He glanced back over at his friend. "Hey, T…" Jack began. Teal'c looked away from the game to meet Jack's gaze. Taking that as an invitation, Jack continued, "Now that the Time Cop here's out of it -"

"O'Neill…"

"Come on, what could it hurt?"

"No."

"Teal'c!"

Teal'c didn't even bother answering. Jack gave up with a sigh.

"Can't blame a guy for trying," he mumbled under his breath.

Teal'c had turned his attention back to the television and wasn't listening. Jack hated being ignored. Reaching forward, careful not to disturb Sam, he grabbed a handful of popcorn from the bowl on the coffee table. Settling back into the sofa cushions, he started popping pieces into his mouth. One at a time. Methodically. Glaring at Teal'c the whole time.

Jack knew he was sulking, but he didn't care. "Teal'c…"

Teal'c turned to him with a loud theatrical sigh. Oh, Yeah. The man had definitely changed. "Yes, O'Neill?"

"Please? Give me something…"

Another sigh. "Vala Maldoran was not this persistent." Jack started to smile as Teal'c concluded, "Or this annoying."

Jack's smile turned into a broad grin. Score! Maybe this would work after all. "So…"

One eyebrow raised nearly imperceptibly, but he stayed silent. So, maybe not.

Only Jack was wrong. After studying Jack intently for several long moments, Teal'c finally spoke. "I knew a woman who will never exist, O'Neill." Teal'c's gaze dropped towards Sam. Jack's followed. One of her hands lay open upon his leg, fingers curved around his thigh, holding unto him even in sleep. "And you know everything you need to know about her already."

Jack smiled, understanding. Teal'c words had confirmed what Jack's heart had believed. Sam had remained his through all those years trapped on that ship just as surely as she was his now. And Teal'c was right – as he usually was. That really was all Jack needed to know.

Except Teal'c _wasn't _finished. Not quite. He interrupted Jack's thoughts with, "Except, O'Neill, there is one more thing…" When he had finished speaking, Teal'c really was done, and the two friends never discussed what happened on the Odyssey again.

-o-o-o-

The stars in three galaxies must have been in perfect alignment, or more probably, the God of all the galaxies figured it was about time to cut them a break. Either way, Sam and Jack somehow managed to carve out an entire thirty-five hours together over their second anniversary.

SG-1 had been returning to Earth on the Odyssey, but Sam had stretched the rules ever so slightly – it _was _a special occasion – and come back via an in route Stargate rather than travel back with the rest of the team. So she arrived back on Earth a day earlier than the rest of the team and, a plane ride and taxi drive later, was unlocking the door of their Virginia farmhouse. Of course, since this meant she was arriving unexpectedly in the middle of the afternoon, Jack was still at the Pentagon and the house was empty.

Sam dropped her bag at the bottom of the stairs, and headed into the kitchen where she grabbed the phone and punched in the number. Tucking it between shoulder and ear, she opened the fridge and grabbed a can of Diet Pepsi from the unopened box which was sitting on the shelf.

This proof that she was truly 'home' had her smiling until Sergeant Bourne, Jack's aide, answered the phone on the third ring. "General O'Neill's office. How may I help you sir or ma'am?"

"Sergeant, this is C—" she started, then realized she didn't have to. In fact, it would be faster not to. So she concluded: "Samantha O'Neill. I thought this was the direct line?" Which translated into, 'Is something wrong?"

Unfortunately, the sergeant didn't speak Sam. "Yes, ma'am, you did. General O'Neill has routed all calls through me this afternoon. He didn't want to be disturbed." But, before Sam could respond to that rather disturbing news, Bourne continued, "Wait a minute, ma'am," and his voice was replaced with Musak in Sam's ear.

She didn't have to wait even a minute.

"Carter!"

"Hi, Jack."

"Did I miss a memo?"

She could picture him shuffling through the ever-present pile of paper on his desk. She replied, "No – is something wrong? Bourne told me you weren't taking calls…"

He laughed. "I was trying to catch up on my paperwork so I could take tomorrow off. My wife's _scheduled _to be back in town sometime tomorrow. Did you know it's our second anniversary?"

"I'd heard rumors."

He snorted. Then: "How long?"

She understood. That was always the question. "Debriefing 0730 Thursday. Colonel Davis already agreed to have the Odyssey beam me back. We've got over a day, Jack."

"Sweet." He paused for a moment, obviously calculating in his head. "I should be outta here within the hour. Wanna meet somewhere for dinner?"

"Yes. Here."

He laughed again. "Unless you like Ramen noodles, I'd better pick something up. Whatcha want?"

"You… decide."

He caught her meaning, and groaned, "Sam…"

She laughed, "Hurry home, Jack."

"You betcha."

He was home in under two hours. Which, considering the drive alone could take almost that long, might have been something of a record.

-o-o-o-

"Puhleeze….?"

Sam stopped with a forkful of cake halfway into her mouth. She withdrew it before speaking. "No. I mean it, wait until tomorrow."

"But…"

"Jack!"

"Puhleeze….?"

She sighed. He'd been like this the entire meal. In fact, the pleading had begun over an hour ago, as they still lay tangled together in bed. She'd barely recovered the power of speech but Jack's inner-child, often also his _outer _child, had already started anticipating his next treat.

She looked across the table at him, and made the mistake of looking up into his face. His brown eyes claimed hers, catching her in their fathomless depths. And she was lost. Damn him. The Ori should have made Jack a Prior. He could have converted the galaxy.

And, still worse, he knew the moment he had won. The corners of his mouth turned up in a smug grin. With a sigh, she nodded, "Yes, you may give me your present."

At least he didn't hoot. Though, as he stood up and offered her his hand, she was fairly sure she heard him mutter 'Score!' under his breath. But she chose to ignore that.

He led her out of the dining room and towards the back of the house. "Where are we going?"

"Cassie's room. Since she's at school I figured I could stash your present there until you decide where to put it."

The idea that her gift was something that required either a room to be stashed in or a decision on placement made Sam a bit apprehensive, but he'd done okay with previous gifts, so she figured she'd give him the benefit of the doubt.

Her faith wasn't misplaced. Jack had shifted Cassie's easels out of the bedroom's bay window and in their place – a cello. The setting sun poured through the windows, pinks and oranges reflecting off polished oak. The instrument was alive – on fire. And beautiful.

She stepped forward, hardly daring to touch it and break the spell. But she did, running her hand along its edge, the wood smooth and warm beneath her palm. As she looked at the instrument – touched it – _felt_ it - something stirred inside her. A long suppressed desire to make the music. To feel the music inside herself and release it to the world.

Sam smiled as she looked back over her shoulder at Jack. "How did you know?"

"Teal'c mentioned you might be interested in learning how to play."

"How would he-" she began before realization dawned on her. The cello momentarily forgotten, she turned to face Jack. "He didn't!"

"What could it hurt?"

"Jack! He wasn't supposed to say _anything_."

"I can be very persuasive…. I didn't have to wait until tomorrow to give you your gift," he reminded her, smiling unapologetically.

"I think the word you're looking for is _annoying._" But his smile was starting to have the effect he'd intended, and she was finding it hard to stay upset.

"Yeah!" His grin grew still broader, and she gave up even trying to hide her smile. "Ya like it?"

"I love it, thank you. But I still don't think Teal'c should have said anything."

He stepped forward, almost but not quite closing the gap between them. "Samantha, when will you learn?" he asked. Then, reaching up, tracing her smile with the pad of his thumb - "I don't give a crap about the rules as long as I get this."

Heat radiated through her at his touch, fueled by the love in his eyes. The sudden rush of desire left her breathless. Wrapping her arms around him, she closed the final space between them as she managed to ask, in a voice none to steady, "Is that _all_ you want?"

"Well, not everything," he admitted, his own voice wavering slightly. And then, lowering his lips to hers, Jack proceeded to show her exactly what that everything might be.


	7. Coda

She lay in bed just as she'd been told, but she didn't sleep. She'd been here lots of times during the day, but the big house seemed different at night, and she couldn't help but hear each creak and groan as it settled around her. Then a new sound - she thought she heard a door open and close, and footsteps in the hall. Maybe she had fallen asleep after all. Maybe Daddy had called while she'd slept…

But then wouldn't she have been woken up?

She rolled back over, trying to sleep. But she couldn't. She was way too excited.

Then she heard music coming from downstairs. She hadn't been imagining things! She slipped quickly out of bed, opened the bedroom door, and headed downstairs towards the sound.

She stopped in the entrance to the living room. Moonlight streamed through the huge windows, making everything inside the room stand out in black and white. And it illuminated the woman sitting before the windows, her hair polished silver in the stark light, her features cast in shadows as she bent over the instrument held before her. Unwilling to move forward and risk breaking the spell, Terri stood in the doorway, a silent witness to the moment's beauty.

But far too soon the song ended. Realizing she was no longer alone, the cellist looked up at Terri, smiling. "Hi, sweetheart. I didn't see you there. I hope I didn't wake you," her grandmother said.

The smile seemed to light up her grandmother's face despite the darkness, and Terri smiled back. "Uh-uh," she answered, shaking her head. "Couldn't sleep. I keep hoping Daddy'll call from the hospital."

Her grandmother chuckled. "I know your parents told you – it takes a long time for a baby to come. He probably won't be here until tomorrow."

"I know…" Terri agreed. "It's just…"

She'd stepped closer during their conversation, so she could see the look of understanding dawn on her grandmother's face. "She's going to be fine, Terri. They both will."

Terri knew that, really. She nodded and then, because she didn't want to discuss her worry over her mom and the baby or the strangeness of being alone with just her grandmother, and also because she really was sort of curious, she said, pointing to the cello, "I didn't now you could play that."

Her grandmother smiled slightly at the obvious change of subject, but accepted it. "If you can call that playing."

"I thought it was beautiful!" And she had.

"Thank you, but I think you may be a little bit biased. I've never had the time to get _really_ good."

When Terri thought about it, bits of the music had sounded a little funny, and there had been a few squeaks from the bow she hadn't noticed at the time. Still… "Well, I thought it was beautiful anyway. Sad – but kind of a good sad."

Her grandmother smiled again, but this time she didn't really seem happy. "Yeah, I find the music helps me… express things. Now that…"

Her grandmother's voice trailed off, but not before she had glanced towards the pictures on the mantle. "I'm sorry Grandmommy. I didn't mean to make you sad…"

This time when her grandmother smiled, even though unshed tears sparkled in her eyes, she seemed genuinely happy. Terri was getting terribly confused. "No, sweetie, you didn't make me sad. You make me happy."

Now _completely_ bewildered, Terri opened her mouth to speak only to shut it again when she realized she had no idea what to say. This, for some reason, made her grandmother chuckle.

"What's so funny?" Terri asked.

"Nothing, honey. You just reminded me of your grandfather there for a second."

Terri had never known her grandfather, the famous General Jack O'Neill, although she'd heard tons of stories and in school had even seen a recording of his funeral with herself there as a baby. Which had been seriously weird. "Really?" she asked.

Her grandmother nodded. "Oh, yeah. I used to confuse him a lot, too."

Terri wasn't sure if confusion was something to be proud of or not. "And that's a good thing…?"

Her grandmother laughed. "Terri, even I don't understand half of what I say ninety-percent of the time." Her eyes sparkled mischievously, making her look suddenly years younger. "But lets just keep that our little secret – I don't wanna blow my cover."

Then Terri understood, though she found it difficult to believe. While she'd never doubted her grandmother loved her, she had never felt close to her, either. The woman was larger than life – recognized by almost everyone on the planet and even mentioned in some of Terri's own school books. The idea that her grandmother was joking with her was… cool. So Terri did the only thing she could. She laughed with her.

"Wanna get some hot chocolate?" her grandmother suggested as their laughter quieted.

"Sure!"

So her grandmother had stood up and set the cello back on its stand, and then taking Terri's hand, had led her into the kitchen. They had stayed up late into the night – long after the chocolate was gone – her grandmother sharing stories that until then had been only facts in a book. Finally, though, her grandmother decided it was time for them both to get back to sleep. But the next day, after the baby came and her grandmother had brought her to see him, Terri's mom had asked Terri if she'd rather stay at the hospital and go home later with Daddy or if she'd like to stay with her grandmother. She'd looked up at her grandmother, whose encouraging smile made it clear she really did want Terri to come back with her, and the choice had been easy.

It had never stopped being easy, either. In the days and weeks and months that had followed, Terri found lots of reasons to spend time with her grandmother, who became her favorite sitter and her favorite tutor and even her first cello teacher. Until by the time months had become years and Terri no longer needed an excuse to go to her grandmother's house and could even drive herself, her grandmother had become her friend.

-o-o-o-

The music poured from her, and from her grandmother's cello, filling the room with her grief, shared with the hundreds who'd gathered to say goodbye. Terri had been asked to deliver her grandmother's eulogy, since she'd been closer to her than anyone else during the last years of her life, but mere words would never be enough. So she played Sam's favorite song - the very first thing Terri had ever heard her play all those years ago when she herself had been just a child – letting the cello express what she could not.

Yet in the music, and in the cello, and especially in Terri and the rest of her family, Sam lived on. And as the children of mankind spread throughout their galaxy and beyond, to truly become the fifth race, building their lives on technologies she helped develop, Sam lived on. Because while one life will be forever too short to accomplish everything, through the other lives it has touched, it is unending.


End file.
